Mission Details:

Birds sang, the sun shone and skin smouldered. The scent of dust and dryness crept through his nose, the creaking of dehydration marring his throat as a waking groan escaped him. That mask-clad individual felt an awareness that he no longer gazed into hazy recollections and an amusement park of processed memories. Only the backs of his eyelids awaited him. Another jolt of the road shook him amidst this cart he'd taken shelter in, beneath the tarpaulin sheltering supplies to draw him the near full-day's ride out from the encampment. Clenching and flexing waking fingers, numerous silent clicks twinged sensation at the joints in his hands as those eyes turned to the light beyond. Judging by the curve of the road and the passage over yonder, they'd come between the crag marked upon his mental map before his deployment point. A self-assured nod and a sip of his water ration was all the steeling the boy took against the heat, that white cloak coiled about him shifting and reminding him of it's weight as he crawled to a huddled crouch at the back of the cart. Leaping into the sun with a sleepy smile at the scattered kisses of the sun supplanting shade in a rain of clamorous affection, the boy fell upon the misfortune of aiming a little too far along that dip along the side of the road, skidding now down along that moderate incline with a steadying jerk of his spine against the momentum back into stability, hunched down with his arms slightly out to hold his balance. A shade of embarrassment burned in his cheeks, thankful at least for his lack of footsteps to obfuscate his misstep. Stumbling forwards into a fading jog embellished with a nervous sigh of relief, the boy finally decanted a measure of focus and took note of what was in front of him again. As anticipated, a scattered settlement little more than mud bricks and scrounged materials lay below, marked heavy with the scars of passing bandits reducing some outliers to ash and gouges in the earth. With a rustling of paper he plucked that map from his pocket and reaffirmed this as a previously unmarked locale amidst the sea of red circles and crosses painted upon the parchment. Another nod of self-assurance crept up as the forming habit it was as he made his way down that road whilst pondering the nature of that bundle of nerves in his chest. Diplomacy wasn't by his own measure his strong suit after all. Some grumbling ensued regarding much absence of an opportunity to practice any manner of stealthy approach or conflate another mission with his desired reputation of a budding assassin as that train of thought pressed on, only to be rudely derailed by the geyser of memories stirring to the surface, coaxing the mind inwards with pondering of his own salvation from starvation after the destruction of his own home. A pang of sympathy pressed through his teenaged indifference and ignorance in his chest as those cool waters of memory diluted his consternations into acceptance. Coming out from those musings and the faint nagging of the sweat on his brow and the agitation of fluttering fabric against his dampened skin he found himself halting at the edge of this settlement.

A brief moment of shock washed over him, erupting from a harsh start of his heart and shame at his own inattentiveness casting a shadow over that freshly smoothed inner lake. Prying eyes still softly salted with sweat peered from behind the mask to rise from the soil and scan about the homes. The telltale pitter-patter of footfalls disappearing between these simple mud brick structures, hushed voices hiding from the sun betraying the slightest sign of life. A sigh followed settling silence, a nervous clenching and unclenching of his fist satiating nerves manifest as an uneasy itch. A stride through the unpaved streets to look for even a single prying eye to offer a hand gave nothing as the dusts gently blew through until he exhausted the thoroughfare, standing upon a quaint edge of a town square. A vagrant jackal, alone and imposing tore at disemboweled livestock slumped bulging-eyed across a broken beam of the fenced pen at the centre of this town. The scent hitting his nose drew an unsettled breath, that fidgeting hand rubbing across his ribs as he eyed that viscera stained unfortunate. He mused whatever had destroyed the fence was more to blame for this opportunistic feast, the beast itself likely of little consequence. Still, it was only appropriate to drive it off. Focusing in his gaze to drink in detail as distance closed he found it to be healthy and strong, likely well-made from the misfortunes about the land. Old, dried blood lingered about it's chin, mingling with the damp, conjuring tangled feelings bubbling to the surface of his own nation's nature. The boy forged a hand seal, sending forth that illusory duplicate to draw it's attention to face away, whirling about snarling and gnashing in all it's courage. A silent, soft kick to it's rear and the desert dog for all it's bravado, well-fed and hearty, yelps and skittered free after a shocked jolt into the air. Satisfied the livestock is at least unmolested for the time being judging by the sight of that zigzagging golden fleeced menace into the dust attentions returned to the goat's body slouched over splintered wood. With a brow furrowed through consternation he knealt down in the dirt and detritus, lamenting the loss of meagre cleanliness to his hands as he hauled that corpse free into the open side the fence, grunting with effort as he tugged those forelegs. The desiccated thing now separated from the bunch at least by some minor degree, the cowardly bleat of worrisome livestock drew his eyes up from their transfixed appointment with the husk. As his brow furrowed, he realised his expression had at some point softened in his brief transfixed moment. As the winds blew through empty streets and a distant dog cried havoc he clasped firm those bits of broken wood, experimentally lining them up before his eyes to determine the measure of their practicality. After all, it wouldn't serve the people here well to abandon them in what little way of help he believed he could offer with the gesture sailing about those mental waves. Sniffing through a desert-dried nose he seemed moderately satisfied that with a third, supplementary piece it might serve at least until these civilians were picked up. Perching these parts upon his knee with his foot firm against the lower plank of the fence and a firm hand upon the aged wood he groped amongst his clothes for a small, resolute piece of drywood he'd intended a small torch should he be led into caves to seek out survivors. Alas after some fumbling and failing due to his lack of a third hand, the dull thud and sting of something rebounding from his shoulder followed. He halted, motionless with a frozen gaze as if the very blow had petrified him. As the first violent thud of his heart registered in his earths his eyes tilled the ground, finding nothing more than a sharp pebble. Relief became him with his held breath finally released and the chilling spectre of death cast across his heart released. Peering back over his shoulder with as mild a turn as possible about his waist, thin rope still held taught in his hands to find a child with brazen tears in it's eyes and a worried parent hanging in the doorframe behind it with an expression of horror. Blinking the sweat from his brow, the boy looked young enough to be counted on one hand and the mother warped by her horror enough to be counted upon nine. A pang of guilt he couldn't explain wracked his heart as he pushed up the resolve to hold their gaze atop that mask, aware he must appear quite the grotesquerie in such a turbulent time. A hand raised in gesture he was unarmed, the faint clunk of the fence falling as rope unfurled about his wrists and fingers to pull away that demonising, obfuscating thing. Fastening it about his belt by the brass buckle, the boy felt the guilt disseminate a miasma of uncertainty as the mother's face compounded a faint glance of pity in her eyes he'd learned well upon the streets. Slowly, he fished up the briefing he was given, the seal of Iwa emblazoned plain and clear upon the missive held forth. Understanding leading to uncertainty marred her gaze as she tugged the child back inside to a mote of protest and the wood plank door slammed shut, feeble and ill-fitting replacement that it was for the missing article. It was to be expected that mistrust in a secluded community was natural at times like these, he concluded.

Clearing his throat and rising from this mired spot of mistrust he made do with marching pilgrimage of peace from house to house, making rough estimates from what evidence could be found such as shoes beside the door, prying eyes and other artifacts of activity like so many tools and toy abandoned to be marked upon a blank page watermarked with the same heraldry as the missive. Marking off the houses destroyed or otherwise useless upon his map in fateful black strikes opposing the urging red of the living, the boy ninja halted once more at the sound of a hammer upon wood echoing about the voiceless settlement. Hurriedly pushing away his papers he made swift effort to find the source with utmost appreciation of his own lack of contribution to the sounds for once being more than the will to kill or spy. To the town centre his path did take him only to find an older, grizzled man mending the fence proper with a fresh plank and iron nails. Offering but a gruff warning they have little left to take but a solid fight, Ryota showed the paper again to this age-thinned man amidst that desert-sodden mane and declared purpose. "I've come as a representative of those from Iwa to offer aid and evacuation." As was the official line. Grunting amused dismissal, the man still refused to afford him even a glance. The silence rolled as the same errant hound across town cried sporadic loneliness to the sky. Ryota swallowed dry, eyeing the man lacking the same gifted third hand he himself had wanted for to mend the break. Approaching with the same wordless countenance the boy held the wood steady, the two silently abiding this morsel of peace in a quiet corner of war as more than the first nail made their appropriate home. Another grunt from the man came, a hand scarred and calloused by manual labour with a nail gnarled and bloody came forth. "Papers." Came a surprisingly smooth yet deep countenance. For a moment the assassin's eye's widened, only to rush the papers across with his two implements offered. With a discerningly complex gaze ever rocking between dire focus and a threatening veil of forming tears the elder corrected his counts and map before thrusting the parchment back into his grasp. The boy nodded wordless thanks, rising up with a beginning of an assurance forming only to be disrupted by the man turning his back. The beginnings of those sound died in his throat at the realisation of how empty those words must sound this far out. Again that same pup perched afar in the village raised ruckus, breaking his thoughts. Giving little more than a bow, the fledgling shadow turned tail and quickly disappeared off back to that main road to catch a ride back to camp and hopefully, a new start for these folk stranded between disrepair and despair.

[2006 WC]